Buch lesen: «Lady Priscilla's Shameful Secret»
A playful and provocative Regency trilogy from
CHRISTINE MERRILL
Ladies in Disgrace
In London’s High Society there are
three unconventional women who are
not afraid to break the rules of social etiquette!
And it will take a certain type of rake
to tame these delectably disgraceful ladies …!
LADY FOLBROKE’S DELICIOUS DECEPTION
LADY DRUSILLA’S ROAD TO RUIN
LADY PRISCILLA’S SHAMEFUL SECRET
AUTHOR NOTE
After finishing LADY DRUSILLA’S ROAD TO RUIN, I was curious to see what had happened to her sister, Priscilla, after Dru left home. I could guess what the repercussions would be, after her behaviour in that book, but I knew there would be a man to love her.
And that was how I met Robert, a man who was more comfortable with horses than people. He brought with him a collection of slang terms that I had never heard before. I learned that it was possible to disguise the age of a horse by altering its teeth (bishoping), that a daisy cutter is a stumbling horse, and that a horse with bad lungs is a piper.
But I could find no reason to use a horse ladder anywhere in this story. This is a Regency era practical joke, where the new boy on the farm is sent to get the ladder so the horse can climb up to the hay mow to eat.
Happy reading. And don’t let your horse climb any ladders.
About the Author
CHRISTINE MERRILL lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons and too many pets—all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming, where she was paid to play with period ballgowns, and as a librarian, where she spent the day surrounded by books. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.
Previous novels by Christine Merrill:
THE INCONVENIENT DUCHESS
AN UNLADYLIKE OFFER
A WICKED LIAISON
MISS WINTHORPE’S ELOPEMENT
THE MISTLETOE WAGER
(part of A Yuletide Invitation)
DANGEROUS LORD, INNOCENT GOVERNESS
PAYING THE VIRGIN’S PRICE*
TAKEN BY THE WICKED RAKE*
MASTER OF PENLOWEN
(part of Halloween Temptations)
LADY FOLBROKE’S DELICIOUS DECEPTION†
LADY DRUSCILLA’S ROAD TO RUIN†
A REGENCY CHRISTMAS CAROL
(part of One Snowy Regency Christmas)
*Regency Silk & Scandal mini-series
†Ladies in Disgrace trilogy
And in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:
SEDUCING A STRANGER
TAMING HER GYPSY LOVER*
VIRGIN UNWRAPPED
Lady Priscilla’s Shameful Secret
Christine Merrill
MILLS & BOON
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To Diana Fox
and the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Chapter One
Robert Magson, Duke of Reighland, treated each new ballroom like an Indian jungle set with traps not for tigers, but for unwary men. There were so many mamas and daughters in London that he would not have been surprised to see them lurking behind the furniture at White’s. And they were all eager to catch his eye, even for just a moment.
It was as though they thought he could decide on a bride based on a single glance in a crowded room. He spent more time buying a horse than that. He would never lay down money without checking teeth, feeling fetlocks and enquiring of the bloodline. Surely the choice of a wife should be made with equal care.
He frowned out into the mob and watched two or three young ladies curtsy as his gaze roved over them. It was an odd feeling, this sudden deference, as though his slightest glance was the withering glare of the noon sun in a garden full of delicate blossoms. The same girls would not have looked twice at him a year ago. Then his cousin had died. And suddenly he was the catch of the Season.
He frowned harder and watched the crowd contract to give him more space. It was not as if he did not mean to marry one of them. But there were far too many who had hopes in his direction. One could not appear too welcoming, if one wanted even a moment of peace in the evenings.
To be fair, the rout tonight was surprisingly convivial. And he had no reason to suspect his host, the Earl of Folbroke, was plotting against him. The man was too young to have marriageable children and, to the best of Robert’s knowledge, had no sisters.
‘I hear you are thinking of offering for Benbridge’s daughter,’ said Folbroke from his place at Robert’s side.
It surprised him that that particular bit of news had travelled so quickly. While he had been paying court to several young ladies in a halfhearted and unenthusiastic way, the matter of Benbridge’s daughter had been introduced into conversation only recently. But apparently, it was already on dit. ‘What might have given you that idea?’ he asked blandly. ‘I have not even met the girl, yet.’
‘According to my wife, Lady Benbridge is telling everyone that your back has been broken by the parson’s mousetrap.’ The earl smiled. ‘As far as the bit that has trapped you? It does not surprise me that you have not met her. None of us has seen her for quite some time. Of course, I would not notice, even if she were here.’ Folbroke adjusted his smoked glasses.
It was a continual surprise to Robert that the earl was so casual in calling attention to his blindness. He supposed it prevented people from treating him like an invalid, when there was no reason to. Although he tended to stay at the edge of the room during events such as these, Folbroke looked no more uncomfortable than the other gentlemen that lounged against the walls to avoid the press of bodies at the centre of the floor.
Robert admired his studied casualness and sought to emulate it so that he might appear more comfortable in society than he felt. Four months after becoming Reighland it was still an effort not to turn and search the room for Gregory when someone called him by the title. He offered a silent prayer for the bright and smiling child that had been meant for this honour, just as he longed for the wise counsel of his father. Sometimes it felt that his family had not so much died as abandoned him to make his own way in a confusing world. Now, his frown deepened at the rumours swirling about him. ‘Despite what Lady Benbridge might think on the matter, I wish to meet the girl before I offer for her. I might be new to the marriage mart, but not so new that I will take her sight unseen.’
Folbroke smiled in response, as he always did. He was a particularly good-humoured fellow. But Robert suspected that there was something about the situation that the earl found particularly amusing. ‘In any case,’ he said, ‘you must meet Hendricks. He will want to welcome you to the family.’ Robert hoped that Folbroke was not laughing at him for he quite liked the man and would hate to find him as false as some of the others who had been eager to offer friendship to his face while laughing behind their hands at his country manners.
‘Hendricks,’ Folbroke called, ‘come here. There is someone you must meet.’
That was it, then, Robert thought, relaxing a little. Hendricks was Folbroke’s protégé. Apparently, this event had been meant to arrange a casual introduction to his Grace, the Duke of Reighland. There was no real harm in it, he supposed. He had heard that the Hendricks fellow was damned useful to know. And when it came to navigating the subtleties of London, Robert could use all the help he could get.
A bespectacled man all but materialised out of the crowd, as though the room was a stage and he had been waiting in the wings for an entrance. It was nicely done. Though Robert had been watching closely, he’d never have suspected that Hendricks had been watching for a cue from the earl.
‘You wished something, Folbroke?’ Hendricks’s voice was raised to be heard over the noise of the crowd, but he still managed to sound quiet and deferential. His choice of words made him seem even more like an Arabian djinn.
‘Only to present you to Reighland,’ Folbroke shouted back at him. ‘Your Grace, John Hendricks is husband to the lovely Drusilla Roleston. Dru is the elder Benbridge daughter and sister to your fair Priscilla.’ He stared in the direction of Hendricks, who was dipping his head to hear over the roar of voices. ‘John, Reighland is likely to be your brother-in-law. Make nice to him.’
Hendricks’s eyebrows raised in surprise before he could master his emotion and turn to Robert with a bow. ‘How do you do, your Grace?’
Robert gave him a stiff nod of response. ‘Not as well as Folbroke seems to think. She is not my Priscilla, Folbroke. Despite what society claims, my intentions are not set in stone. I have not even met the girl,’ he added again, wondering just what was wrong with people in London. They gossiped as though rumour was air and they could not survive without it. ‘I do mean to seek an introduction to her. If there is compatibility between us …’ He gave a half-shrug.
Hendricks nodded. ‘If you would permit, your Grace, I would like to introduce my wife to you. She is eager for all things to do with Priss and will be glad to know you.’
‘She cannot ask Priscilla herself?’
‘Sadly, no.’ Hendricks smiled benignly at him. ‘Because of me, I’m afraid. The Earl of Benbridge did not think me good enough for his family. To my eternal good fortune, Lady Drusilla did not share his opinion, but now my poor Dru is quite cut off from associating with her sister.’
‘And if I might say so, Benbridge is a fool,’ Folbroke said calmly. ‘You will not find better company in this room than John Hendricks, nor will you find a sharper mind.’
Robert had heard similar sentiments voiced by others. Hendricks was seen as an up and comer in political circles for his pleasant demeanour and his uncanny ability to be always in the right place at the right time. ‘Is the attendance of the older sister the reason I do not see the younger here?’ Robert asked, slightly annoyed by the fact. On the few times they’d spoken, the Earl of Benbridge had seemed a stiff-backed old fool who was not nearly as smart or important as he seemed to think himself. This was merely another confirmation of it. It was interesting to see that, having to choose between the company of one or the other, Folbroke would rather associate with his inferior than with Benbridge, a man of equal rank. Robert stored the information for future reference.
Hendricks nodded in answer to his question. ‘Since we were invited this evening, Priscilla would not be permitted to come. It is damned unreasonable of him. My wife and I cannot forgo society just to prevent embarrassment for a family that will not welcome Dru back, no matter what she does.’ He glanced at Robert and pushed his spectacles up his nose. ‘If you should happen to marry Priss, you will have our felicitations, of course. But we will make no attempt to ruin the girl’s wedding by expecting an invitation and upsetting her father.’
Robert found this even more annoying than the assumptions of his choice of bride. It had never occurred to him to care who was in the pews at St George’s; now he had received his first refusal before the invitations had been engraved. ‘This is hardly set in stone,’ he repeated. ‘I have spoken to Benbridge about it, of course, but I have not even met the girl.’ Then a thought struck him. ‘But you have, haven’t you? How did you find her?’
There was a fleeting expression of caution in Hendricks’s eyes, just before he spoke. Then he said heartily, ‘She is a great beauty. All blonde curls, blue eyes and dimples. She will make someone a most attractive wife, I am sure. The children will be lovely.’
He’d managed to mention looks three times in as many seconds. Yet Robert was sure that the man did not like her, or her blonde curls. He had chosen the other sister. And it was obvious that he doted on her.
But that did not mean Robert might not like Priscilla, if he ever saw her. A pretty wife was better than an ugly one.
‘You will have Benbridge’s favour as well,’ Hendricks added. ‘Priscilla is his favourite.’
‘The thought had crossed my mind,’ Robert replied. If marriage was to be little better than a connection between powerful families, he could do much worse than an earl’s daughter. If he wished to put forth any of his ideas in Parliament, it could not hurt to have an elder statesman at his back. And judging by the value Benbridge set on status and decorum, he must have drilled his daughter in the rules of good behaviour, practically from birth. She would rescue him from his tendency to social faux pas.
With the number of men between him and the title, he had never expected to be a duke. But Lady Priscilla had been bred to be a duchess, or at the very least a countess. She would know what was expected of her. And he would not have to give another thought to the running of his households and social life. It would be a great relief.
But it annoyed him that Hendricks could not seem to find any word for the girl other than that she was pretty. It made him wonder if there was some secret. Hereditary madness, perhaps? Given the choice between that or weakness of character Robert almost preferred the second. While he had seen virtuous children with wanton parents, a lack of wit seemed to carry through the generations.
‘Priss is the apple of his eye,’ Hendricks affirmed, interrupting his musings. ‘And here is mine.’ The woman who was approaching them seemed sane enough. But she was neither blonde nor blue eyed. Nor did she share anything in common with Benbridge’s rather florid complexion. Years of horse breeding told him that such a variety of colouring was unusual in siblings.
‘Your wife is Priscilla’s stepsister, did you say?’ he guessed.
Hendricks gave him an odd look and Folbroke seemed more than usually impervious. ‘I said no such thing, your Grace.’
Which meant that too great a knowledge of biology had just led him to question the legitimacy of the former Drusilla Roleston. He doubted that the woman had heard him above the other voices. And her husband was too eager for his patronage to rebuke him.
But it was yet another proof that he needed a keeper to muzzle him in these situations and pave over any mistakes with gracious smiles.
Hendricks appeared to have forgotten the comment already and made the introductions. In response, Robert made a proper bow and responded, ‘Lady Drusilla.’
‘Please, your Grace,’ she said softly. ‘You may address me as Mrs Hendricks.’ She shot her husband a look that told the world the man had hung the stars and the moon, and there was no greater title in the world than the honour of bearing his last name.
In response, the normally composed Hendricks blushed and grinned.
Even with his time spent travelling amongst the ton, Robert knew that it was unusual to see a couple so obviously fond of each other. He was secretly envious. That was what he had expected, before his life had taken its recent and dramatic turn: a woman who would be happy to have him, not just angling after his title. Would that the sister shared this woman’s sweet nature. ‘Mrs Hendricks, then. I am honoured to make your acquaintance.’
Drusilla turned to him with a hopeful smile. ‘John tells me that you have some news of my sister?’
‘Only that I might make an offer for her, if she is to my liking.’
He watched as Mrs Hendricks looked back at him with equal curiosity. ‘You have met with her, then? Is she well?’
‘I have not, as yet, made the lady’s acquaintance.’ But he must soon, if only to save him from admitting his ignorance, over and over.
‘You do not know her, yet you would consider an offer.’ The lovely Mrs Hendricks frowned. ‘I take it you have been in communication with my father on the subject.’
He gave a little nod of acknowledgement.
‘I would hope, sir, that you have the lady’s best interests in mind as well. I am sure my father is concerned primarily with your rank and thinks little of my sister’s future happiness. My hopes for her are much more humble. I do not wish to see her bartered away from the family to a man who does not care about her.’
Robert glanced between Hendricks and Folbroke, waiting to see if either would prevent the lady from offering him further insult. Folbroke was smiling expectantly at him, as though it was a legitimate question that deserved an answer. Hendricks met his gaze as though he had been thinking much the same thing, despite his dislike for the girl they were discussing and the risk of offending a peer.
Very well, then. He would answer bluntness with bluntness. ‘It is true that I know far more of trading horses than I do of marriage, Mrs Hendricks. Until my recent elevation, I had little plan for my life other than the breeding and selling of cattle. But I was known for my sound judgement on the subject. I would have no intention of closing such an important bargain without at least riding the filly in question.’
Folbroke gave a snort of suppressed mirth.
He had done it again. ‘That is not to say that I wish to …’ He glanced at Mrs Hendricks and then away. For if she understood the thing he had implied, but not meant to say … ‘I only want to meet her,’ he said at last, exasperated. ‘We need to talk … to know each other … socially … before such a decision can be made. But I can assure you that, once the deal is done, I treat anything and anyone under my care with the respect and affection it deserves.’
Hendricks looked more doubtful, as though calculating just how much respect his sister-in-law was entitled to.
And the former Lady Drusilla continued to stare at him, as though trying to gauge the value of a man who might compare marriage to horse trading and admit to an interest in riding her beloved sister. ‘A fair enough answer, I suppose. Knowing my father as I do, I could hardly have expected him to choose a husband for Priss based on some pre-existing bond of affection. I must trust that my husband and Lord Folbroke would not be introducing me to you if they did not think you worthy of my sister.’ She gave a small sigh as though the small matter of a dukedom meant nothing to her and Robert stifled his own inadequacy. Then, she softened. ‘Please, when you see Priss, inform her that I asked after her good health. And ensure her that, should she need me for any reason, she must feel free to call upon me, despite what Father might say.’ There was something in the final sentence that made him think that if the mysterious Priscilla experienced unhappiness, it had best not be at his expense, or the formidable Mrs Hendricks would take swift retribution.
‘Very well, then, madam. I will be happy to relay your message.’ And he would do it soon, he was sure. The vague interest he’d had in the girl had been piqued to actual curiosity with this interchange. Even if he did not wish to wed her, he very much wanted to meet her and see what all the fuss was about.
Chapter Two
‘You will be pleased to know that I have chosen you a husband.’ The Earl of Benbridge barely looked up from his newspaper as he casually made the announcement that might permanently alter Priscilla’s life.
Did he expect her to be pleased? She frowned down at her plate. She was not. Not in the least. It felt as if her insides were being squeezed with a metal clamp. Her heart ceased to beat and her breathing ground to a halt. Her stomach clenched until the little breakfast she had taken churned weakly inside it. ‘Is it someone of my acquaintance?’ She kept her tone uninterested. It was always easier to start an argument with Father than to win it.
‘Do you know him? Since you rarely leave the house, how likely do you think it is that you have seen him?’
‘I go when I have been invited,’ she said, as patiently as she could. ‘And to the events that you allow me to attend.’ That further limited her choices. ‘If you refuse to let me be seen in the company of Drusilla, you can hardly blame me for staying home. The hostesses know that if they lose her favour, they lose the Countess of Folbroke, and possibly Anneslea as well. My sister has become quite the social butterfly since her marriage.’
‘Her marriage to a nothing,’ her father announced. ‘And without my blessing.’
‘Do not be jealous of your sister, Priscilla. It does you no credit.’ Father’s new wife, Veronica, seemed to think it was her place to act as a sage adviser to her stepdaughter on all womanly graces. After their brief time together, Priss found the idea that Ronnie had a store of accrued wisdom faintly ridiculous.
In any case, her statements about Dru were not so much a sign of jealousy as a simple statement of fact. Since the marriage to Hendricks, her father had forced the ton to choose a side. And after only a little thought, they had chosen Dru’s. Priss’s own scandalous behaviour, last summer, had put the last nail in the coffin of her social life and the trickle of remaining invitations had dried up almost completely. ‘I am not jealous, Ronnie. I am happy that Dru has finally got the Season she deserves, even if it has come too late to get her a rich and powerful husband.’
‘Bah.’ It was the noise that her father often made, when confronted with the stupidity of his actions. If he had given her a Season, Dru would now be married to the man of his choosing. Then he would be satisfied. And poor Dru would have managed to be content, instead of as gloriously happy as rumours made her out to be.
Benbridge brightened as he dismissed all thoughts of the absent Drusilla and focused his attention on Priss. ‘We will show her the error of her ways, girl. In a month or two you shall be married at St. George’s and all the town shall wish for an invitation. You may pick and choose who you like and devil take the rest.’
At one time the thought of delivering slights and nods and setting pace for the fashionable world might have interested her. Now that she had been on the receiving end of it, she’d lost her taste for gossip. At the moment, there was only one person in this imaginary wedding that she really cared about. But she was almost afraid to ask about him.
‘I am more interested in the groom than the guest list. Who have you chosen for me?’
‘Reighland. That freshly acquired title has made him something of a nine-days’ wonder. When you capture his attention, it will be a coup.’
She racked her brain, sorting through the guests at the few parties she had attended in recent months. Had she seen him? Had he been there? Had he seen her? She could find no memory of him. ‘And why would he have me?’
‘I have spoken to him on the subject. I need an ally in the bill that I am presenting. He is a logical choice. But he has been quite standoffish. When he expressed a half-hearted desire to marry, I informed him that I had an eligible daughter. It was the first overture in what I hope will be a long and fruitful alliance.’
When Benbridge said fruitful, he thought of nothing more than bills and laws. There was no mention of the other fruits that might result in marrying his daughter off to a stranger—nor the acts she would have to perform to achieve them. ‘How nice for you,’ Priscilla said weakly. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I think I shall retire to my room for the morning. I am feeling quite tired.’
‘It is nearly noon, Priscilla. Too late to be asleep, and far too early to retire for the day.’ Veronica was eyeing her critically.
Priss searched for an excuse that might meet with the woman’s approval, yet allow her to be alone with her thoughts. ‘I mean to spend an hour in prayer.’
Veronica took another sip of her coffee. ‘Very well then. It is not as if your character does not need reforming. But remember, too much piety is unbecoming in a girl. I have no objections, as long as you have recovered from the effects by evening and are attired in your newest gown. We will be attending a ball at Anneslea’s and you will be meeting your husband-to-be.’
Tonight, already. That left her only a few hours to find a way out of her father’s plans for her. It seemed she would be praying for deliverance.
A few hours later, Lady Priscilla Roleston surveyed the ballroom and wondered if Veronica might have been right about the dangers of prayer and solitude. She felt for all the world like a girl on her first come out. Her gown was fashionable and she’d been assured that it flattered her. But the neckline, which had been acceptable when she’d ordered it, now felt exposing to the point of immodesty. People would stare.
At one time, she would have welcomed the attention that a daring dress would bring her. Now, she just wanted to be left alone.
But it seemed that was to be a hopeless wish. Her father’s mind had been set on the subject of the impending introduction. No amount of feigned megrims or foot dragging had had any effect on him or his new wife.
And that was the best she could manage, really, when thinking of Ronnie. Although the woman had attempted to force Priss into calling her ‘Mother’ their ages were close enough to make the idea laughable. Even the word ‘stepmother’ was a struggle. She did not wish a female parent of any variety, though Papa had claimed that it was out of concern for her that he had married again so late in life. She needed a chaperon and wise guidance.
Perhaps he was right. At barely one and twenty, Priss expected her character was fully formed, for better or worse. But if she had wished to use her youth and good looks to capture the attentions of a foolish, old peer, she could not think of a better teacher than the new Lady Benbridge.
Since Priss heartily wished to remain unmarried, Ronnie was proving to be more hindrance than help. She must hope that the Duke of Reighland, whoever he might be, was not as willing to take a pig in a poke as her father expected.
‘Straighten your shoulders, Priscilla. We cannot have you slouching tonight. You must put your best foot forwards. And smile.’ Veronica prodded her in the back with her fan, trying to force her to straighten.
Priss took care to let no emotion show on her face as they approached the knot of people in the corner of the room. Why should she bother being nice, just to please whomever Father had chosen as the latest candidate for her hand? Considering the men he had threatened her with over the years, she had very good reasons not to encourage an attraction.
But she straightened her shoulders, just a little. The continual effort of hunching, trying to seem a little less than she was, was both taxing and painful.
Veronica surveyed her appearance with a frown. ‘I suppose it will have to do. Now come along. We are to be presented to the guest of honour. It is rare for an eligible peer to come to London, almost out of nowhere, right at the height of the Season.’
‘Which means he will be surrounded by girls,’ she said to Ronnie, trying to dash her hopes. ‘There is no reason he should choose me from amongst them. Or be thinking of marriage at all. I am sure he has other things on his mind. Parliament, for example. No amount of good posture and manners on my part will make an impression.’
‘Nonsense. Benbridge assures me that he is practically in awe of his own title and enjoys the attention immensely. How can he not? He never in a million years expected to be more than a gentleman farmer. Suddenly, his father, cousin and uncle are all dead in the space of a year. And here he is. It really is the most tragic thing.’ But Veronica grinned as she said it, all but salivating at the thought of such an eligible, yet so naïve, a peer.
‘Yes,’ Priscilla said firmly. ‘It is tragic. Devastating, in fact. His cousin was barely three years old. I am sure there will be another year at least for me to meet the man. He cannot intend to marry so quickly when he is still grieving for his family.’ But though the new Reighland wore unrelieved black for the boy who had been his predecessor, his mourning did not extend to a complete withdrawal from society if he was attending parties all over London.
‘On the contrary. Rumours say that he is on the hunt and means to return to his lands properly wed by the end of the session. He has seen the results of waiting too long to get an heir, with his uncle dying of age while the heir was still so young and vulnerable. The Reighland holdings are too remote to see much society. It makes sense to him to choose a bride while he is at market.’
‘Inadequate breeding stock in the north, I suppose,’ Priscilla said. There were rumours that the duke had been much better with horses than he had with people, and that his Grace’s general gracelessness extended to his doings with the fair sex. But for all of that, he was still a duke and much could be forgiven—especially by one who was eager to marry.
He seemed just the sort of man her father would choose for her. One with little else to recommend him other than rank. As she glanced at him from across the room, she had to admit that there was nothing about him that she imagined would make for an easy husband. He did not need the title to intimidate her. He was an exceptionally large man with broad shoulders, bulging muscles and large hands. His thick black hair hung low over his face, which had matching heavy brows. The slight shadow on his jaw meant his valet would have to keep a razor sharp and ready more than once a day. If he would at least smile, she might have thought him jolly, but his looks were as dark as his coat.
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